


The Sound of Silence

by CirillaShepard



Series: Calibrations [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Personal Demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirillaShepard/pseuds/CirillaShepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song "The Sound of Silence".<br/>Garrus helps Shepard come to terms with the ghosts that haunt her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER**  
> I do not own anything from the Mass Effect game series (unfortunately) but BioWare does.  
> Damn them.  
> I’m just borrowing their characters for fun when my muse grabs me.  
> ____________  
> I am on [Tumblr](http://memoryandthought.tumblr.com) \- come and say hi!

_Hello darkness my old friend…_  
  
She sits in darkness, the shutters closed tight against the star speckled sky that zooms over her head; datapads strewn across the bed with its sheets tangled and damp with the sweat of her nightmares.  
  
It’s been like this for weeks.  
She is running on caffeine and adrenaline because when she sleeps she is plagued by the same shadowed nightmare time and again; chasing the little boy that she couldn’t save all those months ago on Earth only to have him consumed by flames when she reaches him.  
  
She now only sleeps when her body demands it by making her reactions sluggish and her mind fuzzy.  
  
She knows she should talk to someone about this but when she tries to force something – anything – past her lips it sticks in her throat as though she’s swallowed glue that binds the words together in a glutinous mass behind her teeth.  
So she keeps it all in, slowing her breathing and heart beat before pushing her sweat-slicked hair off of her face in an aggravated gesture.  
  
Her limbs feel as though they are made of lead as she moves off of the bed and stumbles to her shower; hoping that the hot water will wash away the remnants of her restless night and cleanse the heavy feeling of guilt that presses down on her shoulders.  
  
____________  
  
 _I’ve come to talk with you again…_  
  
He is trying his hardest to not worry, to not overthink things and to stay a strong, stalwart presence.  
However, while he is locked away in what (in more lighthearted moments) is affectionately nicknamed his “office”; pouring over endless algorithms and schematics, calibrating and recalibrating until even the AI grows frustrated and shuts the programs down; forcing him to stop and rest.  
  
 _Rest_ , he thinks with a derisive snort, _that’s funny_.  
  
Any attempts at sleep, or just some downtime – he doesn’t sleep at all really anymore – are met with a sudden restless need to pace the Normandy, or research new armaments or do something – anything - that meant he didn’t have to think about the toll this whole situation was taking on the woman he knew wasn’t sleeping either locked away in her quarters.  
  
He sits on the edge of the makeshift cot tucked into the corner of the battery and runs his hands over his face.  
As his hands fall into his lap, his face tilts upwards and he swears he can hear her pacing the length of her quarters the same way she has done every night for Spirits knows how long.  
A sigh huffs past his mouth and he stands, leaving the room and heading for the elevator; hitting the button that will take him to her.  
  
The elevator seems to take longer than normal to make its steady climb to the top floor of the Normandy and the hiss as the doors open seems louder than usual, the lights brighter to his exhausted senses.  
He palms the control to her door and steps inside.  
  
____________  
  
 _Because a vision softly creeping…_  
  
The water is as hot as she can stand it, stinging her skin and leaving it reddened. Her thoughts have ceased under the spray and so she takes her time; allowing herself to be free of the ever increasing and maddening noise in her head.  
  
A quiet ping sounds from somewhere above her head and she grumbles at the intrusion that tells her the water will shut off in two minutes – a safety feature that she is told most military ships have installed, although she doesn’t really want to dwell on why for too long.  
  
She shuts off the water and grabs her over-sized bathrobe from the hook by the door, catching her reflection as she does so.  
She looks different, she thinks, something more than the exhaustion she feels is hiding in the shadows of her eyes.  
She is paler than usual, even under the flush of the slightly too-hot water from the shower and she tries to ignore how thin she has gotten lately by roughly toweling her hair until it’s as dry as she can get it.  
  
She glances at herself once more; the mirror foggy with steam and for a moment hates what she sees staring back at her. Closing her eyes, she leans her forehead against the cool glass and wills her heart to stop thumping and her mind to stop racing – just for a few minutes so she can catch her breath.  
  
She feels rather than hears something behind her in the suddenly colder bathroom and her eyes snap open to the sight of a little blond boy behind her; his eyes beseeching her as tears track slowly over his cheeks. He is saying something, his mouth moving silently; hands reaching out to her and she whips round to nothing but the sterile tiles of the bathroom walls.  
  
 _“You can’t help me…”_  
  
The words shatter her.  
She stumbles blindly out of the bathroom.  
  
____________  
  
 _Left its seeds while I was sleeping…_  
  
As the door opens he sees her leave her bathroom, half-falling down the steps that lead to where she sleeps; or rather where she fakes sleeping so that people will leave her alone to shoulder her burdens and guilt.  
  
He feels his mandible go tight to his face as she sinks to the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. He should’ve come up sooner, he should’ve gone straight to her when he saw her come back with her shoulders slumped just ever so slightly – not enough that the others would notice but for him, he who always watches her, he who always has her six and knows her more than he knows himself if he’s honest; he notices and he knows what it means when her shoulders are set at that particular angle and her face is just a little paler than usual and her hands are kept close to her chest as though she can shield her heart against everything.  
He chastises himself for ignoring that little voice in his mind that told him to go to her and then acts on it – finally, he hears the internal monologue shouting – crossing the room in what feels like one single stride and sits next to her, taking her hands that feel too cold for the amount of steam still curling into the air from the bathroom and just holding them as tight as he can without hurting her.  
  
For a long time they are still, save for the gentle movement of one of his thumbs slowly stroking the back of her hand and the steady rise and fall of their breathing.  
  
He tentatively moves one hand to curl a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so her dulled eyes meet his; bright and inquisitive and concerned.  
  
They are both so in sync now, so attuned to each other’s idiosyncrasies that they don’t need words to communicate and as such, he inclines his head her lips quirk – not quite a smile but the ghost of one at least and that’s enough for him and he shifts backwards, taking her with him so that they’re lying together; her body curled around his while his arms tighten against her back, circling her protectively.  
  
____________  
  
 _And the vision that was planted in my brain…_  
  
She feels one of his hands moving to her hair, stroking the shower-damp strands in the strangely reverent way he always does – he had told her before he’d never seen the point of hair but she has noticed his hands straying to her head more often lately, threading his fingers (ever mindful of his talons, which she swears he has blunted just ever so slightly) through the silky russet-red and she shivers; unsure whether it’s the gentle contact or the cold that still seeps through her skin and into her bones but he catches the movement and looks down at her; a question in his eyes.  
  
She shakes her head – she’s not ready to voice the thoughts and fears that reside in her mind, slowly wearing her resolve down to nothing; she’s not ready to lay herself bare to anyone, not even him; the one person she knows she can trust with her life.  
No, it’s better this way. She has decided long ago that letting her crew see her in any state of vulnerability would somehow detract from her status as a leader.  
  
There are times when she falters and thinks that perhaps showing a small sign of weakness would actually show strength in her character – make her more human and make people see that she wasn’t up high on some golden pedestal at all, she was just her.  
This was one of those times and she steels herself, taking a breath and tilting her head up to look into those bright blue eyes that she always found strength and solace in.  
  
 _“You can’t save me…”_  
  
Her ghosts come flooding back in as the words echo through her mind, as sharp and loud as the dissonant, metallic blare of the creatures that are tearing their way through the galaxy.  
  
She shivers again and out of the corner of her eye sees the little boy again, eyes wide with fear and behind him the rest of her ghosts joining him in silent judgment; all of them clamoring for her attention and she sees her failures in all of them – every single death that happened on her watch stands by her bed, handing down baleful accusations; each with their own voice, their own guilt and blame.  
  
 _“Someone else might’ve gotten it wrong……Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths…”_  
 _“Under your leadership we cannot fail……Is the person I followed to Hell and back still in there…?”_  
 _“Some souls die in battle……Does this unit have a soul…?”_  
  
The words batter against her skull, growing louder and louder until she feels as though she will implode from the noise and she clutches her head with a soft whimper.  
  
____________  
  
 _“Still remains…”_  
  
He feels her shivering and jolts into action when she clutches her head as though in pain, curling in on herself like she’s protecting her body from unseen blows.  
  
He is frozen, paralyzed by her fears and his own; by not knowing what to do, how to help her or comfort her.  
Helplessly he tries to hold her close to him; hoping that the warmth from his body will calm her but she struggles against him, mumbling broken words that he doesn’t understand to people he cannot see.  
  
In a snap decision, he holds her shoulders and forces her head up to look at him. Her eyes are wild and unfocused; bright with unshed tears and he sees in them the burdens she has carried since the threat of destruction and extinction grew larger and even more real.  
  
Something bursts into his mind with the brilliance of a firework and he remembers that years ago he had witnessed a person going into some form of shock while repeating an account of an attack they had suffered through – they had been wrapped up warm and given a hot drink he had been informed was called **tea**.  
While he has no idea how to make this drink he knows that he is a very warm-blooded person takes her chin in his hand, telling her that he is going to help her and all she needs to do is let him.  
She nods frantically and he is thankful that somewhere in the corner of her mind she can still hear him and knows him; even through the haze of the panic and fear she is dealing with.  
  
He shucks off his clothes, glad of the fact he at least wasn’t wearing armor and gently helps her out of hers before pulling her tight to him and wrapping them both cocoon-like in the large blanket that covers her bed.  
She is still shivering, still unfocused and her breathing is too quick, far too quick for his liking; as is her heartbeat which he can see from the readout on his visor is racketing along.  
  
He bumps his forehead against hers and she chokes out a sob, her hands curling on his chest and his mandible lifts in the barest of smiles at the contact; he relaxes his throat allowing his sub-vocals to sound with his speech and just talks to her quietly – nonsense words, funny anecdotes; anything that comes into his head to calm her.  
And then, when her heart has slowed to something that looks almost normal to him and her breathing is less frenetic and her body is no longer shivering and trembling he begins to stroke his hand tenderly from her shoulder to her hip and back again; over and over he repeats the action and he feels her smile rather than sees it; hears the soft contented sigh that tumbles over her lips and then she presses her lips to his chest just over his heart and snuggles against him; legs twined with his and his hand still stroking over her body in quiet comfort.  
  
____________  
  
 _“Within the sound of silence…”_  
  
Her ghosts have receded, fading into the darkness of her quarters with every touch from his hand and every murmured word; his voice exorcising any malevolent presence surrounding her with those beautifully harmonious sub-vocals washing over her like sunshine, all warmth and comfort and safety.  
  
She feels her mind clearing, as though his words and the gentle touch of his hand over her slowly warming skin have purged all the negativity and self-doubt and blame from her body.  
  
Finally, she feels peaceful enough to curl against him, her lips pressing a kiss to his chest in silent thanks and her head resting at his shoulder and she wonders how he does this – how he can calm the storm in her head and the maelstrom of emotions that not even she knew she wore openly on her face around him.  
  
With a smile she relaxes and allows herself to succumb to the fatigue that has been trying to take her over for days; grateful for the man who has tangled his body with hers; one hand still stroking her from shoulder to hip and the other arm tight around her in a protective gesture.  
  
Perhaps tonight, in the darkness of the cabin and surrounded with the sound of silence; they will both get some sleep.


End file.
